


A Kiss from a King

by KaibaSlaveGirl34



Series: Michael Jackson [10]
Category: Michael Jackson (Musician), Miley Cyrus (Musician)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, F/M, Inspiration, Inspired by Fanfiction, Inspired by Music, Inspired by..., Mega Prompts Challenge, Music, One Word Prompts, Wordcount: Under 10.000, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaibaSlaveGirl34/pseuds/KaibaSlaveGirl34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miley is suffering from writer's block. So her father calls on an old friend of his for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss from a King

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a new oneshot about Michael Jackson and Miley Cyrus that I cooked up one day. The idea came to me after listening to "Is It Scary" and "Whatever Happens" by Michael Jackson, and trying to imagine Miley as sort of in the same dance Dawn Summers found herself in with the musical demon Sweet from the Season 6 episode Once More with Feeling from Buffy the Vampire Slayer – only different. So this is what I came up with.
> 
> After all, Miley did say, upon hearing of Michael's death, "Michael Jackson was my inspiration. Love and blessings". I think that's a very sweet thing to say. And those words showed how much she loved him.
> 
> Disclaimer: The lyrics to I Learned From You (the solo version) by Miley Cyrus and Whatever Happens by Michael Jackson belong to their respective owners. I own the fanfics that I cook up from time to time.

A Kiss from a King

_I learned from you_  
_That I do not crumble_  
_I learned that strength is_  
_something you choose_  
_All of the reasons_  
_To keep on believing_  
_There's no question_  
_That's a lesson_  
_I learned from you_  
~Miley Cyrus, **I Learned From You**

It was Saturday morning. Miley Cyrus, sixteen, lay asleep in her bed, a content smile on her beautiful face. Her chocolate orbs were covered by black bedroom eyelashes. Dark brown locks of her hair were scattered on the purple pillow like a halo, only different. But, however, she wasn't alone. A pair of arms, covered by white sleeves connected to a white shirt, were around her waist, holding her tight. The owner stirred, then released Miley, yawning. Then a smooth mane of black hair appeared as a pair of chocolate eyes opened. They fell on Miley, and the corners of the owner's mouth turned up into a smile.

"What time is it?"

The owner's voice was deep. It was as though he was a smooth, charming speaker, which made sense, since he was.

Miley then stirred as she felt someone caressing her cheek. It took some seconds before her dark brown eyes were finally opened and she turned to see the clock.

"It's 7:30 AM," she replied.

She then turned as she said "Why do you ask?", only to see chocolate orbs looking back at her. Suddenly her heart gave a leap as she realized who it was that, it seemed, was looking into her soul.

"You're Michael Jackson," she said.

He grinned in his trademark "big kid" way. "Of course. You've heard my songs and seen my short films."

Miley took a moment to remember, and then smiled as it came back to her...

**Blood On the Dance Floor... Thriller... Ghosts...**

"Oh, yeah. Now I remember," she replied.

Grinning, Michael chuckled, then rose from the bed and stretched his arms above his head before bending down and hunting for his clothes while Miley kept her eyes averted, knowing that there were things she wasn't supposed to look at. He then said,  
"That's good. Apparently you've listened to my music, which I know you like. Have you seen my music videos – which I like to call short films?"

Miley nodded as Michael put on his black pants and then picked up his red shirt. "Yes, I have. They're very well-made, of course. And you do such a good job of dancing in them, too."

Michael grinned bashfully as he buttoned his shirtsleeves. "Thanks, Miley. You know, your music is pretty neat, too."

"Really?" asked Miley as she rose from the bed and reached for her shorts on the floor, picked them up and put them on, and then looked for her blue-and-white striped turtleneck. As she pulled it on over her head, she hoped that things would be just fine for now, and that hopefully she had gotten over her writer's block.

The last two weeks had been pure torture for Miley, as she had gotten struck with writer's block at the worst possible time, when she was trying to write some new song lyrics for a new album. She had tried to make it go away by listening to her previous albums, and then taking a walk outside every now and then. But nothing worked.

Feeling worried for his daughter, and knowing exactly how she felt since he too had often grappled with writer's block, especially when recording his 1992 album **Some Gave All** , Billy Ray picked up his black cell phone and dialed the number of a famous musician he had been friends with for a long time.

The King of Pop was sitting at his desk in his office at Neverland Ranch writing some lyrics to a new song when his cell phone (which was lying on top of his desk) began ringing. He picked it up and answered. "Hello?"

"Michael?" said the voice of Billy Ray.

"Billy Ray!" said Michael cheerfully. "How's it going, my friend?"

"Not good," replied Billy Ray. "It's my daughter Miley. She's been suffering from a terrible case of writer's block lately."

Michael thought for a moment. "Well," he finally said, "maybe I can help."

"Really?" said Billy Ray cheerfully. "Thanks!"

"No problem, Billy Ray," smiled Michael, and after they worked out where they would meet, they said their goodbyes, and Michael, smiling, set his cell phone aside.

Michael then said, "You know, Miley, I think you're a great singer, and you have a great voice."

"Thanks," replied Miley.

"And guess what? I know just how you feel – especially when it comes to writer's block."

"What?" said Miley.

"Oh, Michael, not you too," said Billy Ray, who had just come into the room, having overheard the entire conversation.

"Yes," said Michael, grinning bemusedly at the sight of the shocked expressions on their faces. "I also struggle with writer's block – as I'm sure everyone who likes to write does."

"Really?" asked Miley.

Michael nodded. "Yes. Even those writers for cartoons, TV sitcoms, and movies also get writer's block, especially when they get stuck on an idea, but don't know how to write it down in details."

Miley blinked and then smiled. Michael sure knew how to put things into words pretty well. After all, he had the gift of gab, a way with words, and a flowing tongue. Words would flow seamlessly and easily out of his mouth like water flowing down across rocks into a large river.

"Wow" was all she could think of to say as her dad left the room and closed the door, and Michael walked over to her, smiling.

"Yeah," he nodded as he then reached over and tipped her chin up with his long, white fingers, causing her to look up at him. "And I'll tell you something else, Miley. That song I Learned From You – did you dedicate it to me?"

Miley knew she had to be careful with her words, especially when talking to the King of Pop. So she took a chance and replied, "Yes, Michael. I did."

Michael looked at her, and those beautiful, ocean eyes of hers weren't lying one bit.

"Thanks," he finally said, his lips curling up into his trademark big smile.

Then, with that, he leaned down, placed his hand under her chin and then placed his mouth over hers in a short but beautiful kiss. Miley was caught off-guard, but gave into the kiss anyway. She felt it was a good idea, of course.

Finally, when Michael pulled his mouth away, he then said, gently stroking her face,  
"Miley, you're one of the coolest and courageous people I've ever met in my life. Because of that, if you were accused of child molestation like I was back in 2003, you would fight for your life like I did, and you would win."

Miley nodded. Being accused of sexually molesting a child was a terrible thing to experience. She knew that all too well after seeing the King of Pop on TV on November 20, 2003, as he was taken into the Santa Barbara County Sheriff's Department in handcuffs to have a mugshot taken - one that she knew, as he did, was going to be shown around the world, instead of being kept private.

"I know," she said. "If I was accused of molesting a child, I would fight with all I had."

Michael smiled. "Smart young lady," he replied. "You have a lovely smile. I like that."

_He gives another smile, tries to understand her side_  
_To show that he cares_  
_She can't stay in the room_  
_She's consumed with everything that's been goin' on_  
_She says_

_(Chorus)_  
_Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand_

_Everything will be alright, he assures her_  
_But she doesn't hear a word that he says_  
_Preoccupied, she's afraid_  
_Afraid that what they're doing is not right_  
_He doesn't know what to say, so he prays_  
_Whatever, whatever, whatever_

_(Chorus)_  
_Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand_  
_Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand_  
_Whatever happens, don't you let go of my hand_

_Don't let go of my hand_  
_Don't let go of my hand_

_He's working day and night, thinks he'll make her happy_  
_Forgetting all the dreams that he had_  
_He doesn't realize it's not the end of the world_  
_It doesn't have to be that bad_  
_She tries to explain, "It's you that makes me happy,"_  
_Whatever, whatever, whatever_

_(Chorus)_  
_Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand_  
_Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand_  
_Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand_  
_Whatever happens, don't you let go of my hand_

_Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand_  
_Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand_  
_Whatever happens, don't you let go of my hand_  
_Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand_  
~Michael Jackson, **Whatever Happens**

**Author's Note:**

> Nice feedback is, as usual, very much appreciated, of course... :)


End file.
